


That strange blue box

by queseyo



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover Sherlock and Doctor Who, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queseyo/pseuds/queseyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been years since he had seen that blue box. What a coincidence that it was there as John and him were passing by. But the universe is never this lazy, so why would that man be here?</p>
<p>He had grown fond of the yellow words that had been sprayed by that boy all those years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That strange blue box

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off two headcanons that my friend and I thought of. One: The Doctor occasionally leaves the TARDIS in the middle of London as he walks around, just to see if anyone notices it. By coincidence (or not), Sherlock notices it and actually takes interest in it. Two: As a child, Sherlock saw the TARDIS and spray painted the words "BAD WOLF" and a smiley face in bright yellow. That was also the first time he saw The Doctor.

       He had grown fond of the yellow words that had been sprayed by that boy all those years ago. He had grown so fond of them that he hadn’t bothered cleaning them off. He knew he should but he couldn’t. That was one was of the many mysteries that no matter how hard he tried, The Doctor would never figure out.

 

        Sherlock absolutely despised it when his mother and Mycroft dragged him through town. He had better things to do, like finish reading that book he had started around midnight the night before or perhaps finish recording the data from that experiment he had started on Friday evening.

         But instead he was stuck here, in the middle of London, walking past people in suits and other types of clothing, occasionally glancing at stores as his mother dragged Sherlock by his hand. He assumed Mycroft was a couple feet in front of him, but by now, he no longer cared.

         Mycroft yelled something and Sherlock watched him turn around, walking towards them. He looks up, meeting his brother’s calm gaze. “Can we leave now?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

         Mycroft huffs. “I just need to find that book and we can leave, William.”

         A frown begins dawning on the nine-year-olds face. “Don’t call me that. It’s Sherlock.”

         “Uh huh, sure, little brother.” A teasing smile forms on Mycroft’s lips. He turns to Mrs. Holmes. “Mother, just this store and we can leave, I promise.” He pleads.

         Mrs. Holmes sighs then nods. “Alright, Mycroft. Sherlock,” she looks her youngest son in the eyes. “Stay here. Don’t move, alright?”

         The young boy shrugs but nods. “Yes, Mother.” He watches as the pair slip into the bookstore.

         Boring. This was oh-so-boring. He watches as people hurry by, some occasionally stopping by the store, glancing through the window and deciding to enter it. He watches the street in front of him and glances at the cars that pass by.

         And then, across the street, by pure coincidence, is a blue box. He frowns, knowing that it wasn’t there minutes ago. It couldn’t appeared out of thin air, right? He pushes off the wall that he was leaning on and, after checking that the street is clear, crosses it.

         He stops in front of the blue box and notices a white piece of paper—taped? Glued?—on the front of the box. His lips form the words as he reads them: 

         POLICE BOX. FREE FOR USE OF PUBLIC. ADVICE AND ASSISTANCE OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY. OFFICER & CARS RESPOND TO ALL CALLS. PULL TO OPEN.

         He understood all of the words but still couldn’t fathom how that box had appeared. He hadn’t seen a truck leave it there. He hadn’t seen people carrying it. Just _how_ had it landed on that street?

         Out of thin air perhaps?, he thought and shook his head, immediately dismissing it. “Nothing can appear out of air.” He murmured to himself, putting a hand on the box.

         Sherlock stumbled back as the door opened, just enough for him to slip through. He looked around, checking that his mother and Mycroft were still in the store. Making sure nobody was paying attention to him, he pushed the door a bit more and entered the box.

         And just like that, the door to the box closed. Sherlock froze, not in horror, but in confusion. And, he supposed, also in amazement. A round room bathed in orange light, with a strange cylinder-like device in the middle. He watches a man in a coat and a bow tie, accompanied with wild brown hair, stare intensely at a monitor before grinning.

         “Excellent!” Sherlock hears the man cry in glee. “Lovely, this is perfect.”

         Sherlock watches the man begin to press buttons. Then, suddenly, the man stops and locks his eyes on Sherlock. The grin on his face only widens as he looks away from the buttons and walks over, seemingly with a spring in his step, towards the boy.

         “And who might you be?” the man asks, looking down at Sherlock.

         “Sherlock Holmes.” He answers, getting over the initial fright and panic that had been coursing through his veins. His voice, surprisingly, is calm.

         The man puts his hands together, claps them and nods. “Of course, of course. Now I remember.”

         Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘remember’?” His curiosity begins to get the best of him. “And how did your box appear in the street? And why does it look small on the outside but is actually bigger? That doesn’t make any sense.”

         The man smiles. “So smart. And at such a young age, too. Amazing.” He looks at a watch on his wrist. “I have to be quick. There are things to do, planets to save, people to talk to.”

         Sherlock raises an eyebrow at the words “planets to save”. _Who_ is this man? An astronaut? He was positive that astronauts didn’t travel in blue boxes.

         “Anyways, it's a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock. I’m The Doctor.” He sticks out his hand. Sherlock eyes it warily but shakes it nonetheless. “You’re correct, my box is bigger on the inside. Actually, she has a name. Her name is the TARDIS.”

         “TARDIS? What kind of ridiculous name is that?” he asks, looking around, still trying to understand this ‘TARDIS’.

         “Time and relative dimension in space. Put that all together and you get TARDIS.” The Doctor outstretches his arms. “And, you’re right, Sherlock, it did appear. Out of time and space, that is.”

         “Time and space?” Sherlock scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.”

         The Doctor smiles, a small but knowing smile. “But it’s still possible, Sherlock.” He checks the watch again. “Oh, I think your brother must’ve found his book. You better get going.” He opens the door and pushes Sherlock out.         

         Sherlock turns around. “Wait, no!” he complains. The door slams shut before he can say anything else. Across the street, he sees his brother and mother, his brother holding a heavy-looking bag.

         Before he crosses the street, two words flash in his mind. _Bad wolf._ He frowns and notices a can of yellow spray paint.

         “ _Bad wolf_.” He hears someone whisper and turns around, expecting someone behind him. “ _Spray it on the TARDIS, Sherlock. A message from a friend of his. Please?”_ The voice is friendly and soft.

         He picks up the can and looks around. His eyes meet the silhouette of a girl with blonde hair and brown eyes. She smiles and begins to fade.

         He shakes the can and after a couple of minutes, begins to spray the words over the white paper. He adds a smiley face, just for fun.     

         He doesn’t understand who that girl was and why she told him to write those words. He looks at the yellow letters. He nods, satisfied with his work, and puts the can down.

         “Sherlock!” he turns around and sees his mother running towards him, Mycroft on her heels. His mother’s lips are drawn into a thin line. “I thought I told you to stay by the store. You weren’t supposed to run off.” She scolds and takes his hand.

         “Sorry, Mother.” He replies, lowering his head.

         Mrs. Holmes sighs. She smiles softly. “It’s alright, Sherlock. I was just worried about you.”                       

         He nods slightly.

         “Come on. Let’s go home.”

         Sherlock turns his head around just as they reach the end of the street. He looks in surprise, seeing that the TARDIS is no longer there.

         I’ll find out more about The Doctor, he thinks. I know I will.

 

  _Years later_

        The blue police box with the yellow words “BAD WOLF” and a smiley face. He stops, John almost crashing into him. A tiny but happy smile twitches on his lips. He reaches out and touches the words, remembering that day.

       “Sherlock, what is it?” John’s confused voice brings Sherlock back to reality and he pulls his hand away quickly, the smile fading from his face.

       “Nothing, John. Absolutely nothing.”

      “You were smiling at that...that thing. A police box, isn’t it?” John’s brow furrows.

     “Ah...yes,” Sherlock pauses. “That’s what it is.”

      “What are those words? BAD WOLF, huh? Strange.”

      Sherlock shakes his head. “It’s nothing, John. Come on, the game is still on.” He takes off running, coattails flapping in the breeze. 

     And as they turn the corner of the street, John rushing past him, Sherlock turns around just in time. And the door of the police box opens. Out steps a man with wild brown hair and a bow tie. For some strange reason, the man in the box is wearing a top hat. He meets Sherlock’s gaze and tips the hat, as if in a silent ‘hello’. He smiles softly before stepping back into the box and closing the door. The sound of gears screeching and moaning echo throughout the empty street and the blue box vanishes. 

     “Sherlock! Hurry up!”

    He hears John’s voice and blinks, looking at the place where the police box with the yellow graffiti was minutes ago. That small smile twitches on his lips again before he adjusts his scarf and runs down the street. He takes one last glance, just in case the box is still there, but then keeps running. After all, the game is always on. Maybe the man with the hat will be part of it.

    Sherlock hopes that The Doctor will join him one day.

 

 

 

        

        


End file.
